


It's Just Too Bad I've Got a Good Memory

by coulsons-hawk (allyoop)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Crack, Developing Relationship, Drabble Collection, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Health Issues, Humor, M/M, Other, Sad, Team Bonding, Woobie Clint Barton, but then the drabbles became a 'verse, spoilers for the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyoop/pseuds/coulsons-hawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint may hold the title of "Sassmaster Supreme" but he is a Big Dumb Idiot. Phil is badass as always, but coming back from the dead has the tendency to change you. Natasha is plotting in the shadows, Tony is a man-child in a hula skirt, and Steve should really just commit everyone to an insane asylum.</p><p>This began as a 30 day challenge, and now it's a whole 'verse.</p><p>((Chapters 1-5 are Part 1. Part 2 begins with Chapter 6. Chapters can potentially be read as one-shots, but they do occur chronologically.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wished with Dangerous Abandon

**Author's Note:**

> What once began as a fic and art 30 day otp challenge quickly spiraled into this.  
> Challenge #1 - Holding hands. Comments are welcome :)

This piece is accompianed with art [here](http://coulsons-hawk.tumblr.com/post/35021897269/30-days-of-otp-hand-holding-it-was-not-painful).    

* * *

 

     It was not painful. It was electric currents running under his eyelids, shocking them open, forcing him under neon lights he does not want to see. It was sodden boots wrenched out of a deep mud pit. His whole body was seizing with the effort of awakening, of remaking himself. Claws seemed to scratch at his brain, re-etching what once was repressed. It was not painful until Clint began to remember.

     Throwing his head back against the wall, his blood felt poisoned and his heart clenched at each recollection. But each stab of pain made it easier to unearth who he once was. Each memory - his mistakes, his losses, and his hardships - were pinpoint iron clamps in his stomach giving him ammunition to destroy the last bit of alien wall placed in his mind. The sharper the sting, the clearer he became. In a minute, it was over. The poison had gone.

     Natasha was his silent sentinel, keeping eye on him and the door. Clint shifted position to face her. She half turned away from him, her red hair retreating into shadows.

     “Nat. What happened?”

     “Cognitive recalibration” A ghost of a smile passed in her eyes. A memory sparked a throb in his temple and he felt a bruise the size of a fist.

     “Thought so.” Clint deliberately held her gaze. “But what happened.”

     “Clint-”

     “How many.”

     “Clint, don’t do this-”

     “Natasha, tell me who.”

     “I don’t know who you… But…Oh, Clint-“ There was something wrong. There was something massively wrong. Her mouth was pulled tight and her eyes were squinty and something was very very wrong and his head was throbbing now and he needed answers and he couldn’t think clearly, he needed to get away and go up and up and see from afar and find his team and his handler and-

     “Coulson. Where is Coulson?” Her eyes flickered in a second of panic and then her whole face fell into practiced flatness.

     “You just woke up, you need to rest and to debrief. I will check on the status of the team while you-”

     “Bullshit. I don’t care about regulations or what that Captain Apple Pie told you to spare me. Give me the goddamn truth, Nat. I will find out one way or another and I will knock you down if you stand in my way.” He hauled himself out of bed, making sure to brace himself in case he had to fight his way out.

     “Helideck. The copter takes off in three minutes.”

     Clint hurled himself out the door, flicking through all potential routes and calculating his best chances. He pushed himself into a sprint and stumbled as he rounded corners, his legs still new, but he would make it. He had to make it.

     The deck door was already thrown open and the shriek of copter blades tore at his blooming migraine and he forced his shaking muscles to close those last few feet because Coulson was strapped into a stretcher with a hustle bustle of black suits blocking Clint from his destination. The stretcher was being loaded onto the emergency copter. He reached out, shoulder impacting shoulders, pushing aside the swarm. Hand (warm, sweaty, callused fingers) met hand (cold, sticky, whose blood? Whose blood?) and then it was whisked away.

     The copter doors screeched and then he couldn’t see it anymore and then no one but him stood on the deck. How long had it been since he held his hand? One hour ago? Two? Five?

     Clint broke.

     He wished with dangerous abandon, letting himself remember fully, letting that last iron vice clamp into place in his heart, as he cried into the grey clouds that do not care about fairness, screaming for time to hold Phil’s hand, time to tell him properly, time to try, time to be. Just time.


	2. He had let himself hope, but now he wished he hadn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30 day challenge #2 - Cuddling. If you squint, it's there.

     This piece is accompianed with art [here](http://coulsons-hawk.tumblr.com/post/37101562836/30-days-of-otp-day-two-cuddling-on-a03).  

* * *

 

     Clint’s jaw ached from maintaining silence. Each team member shared their heartfelt hellos which dragged on so long he felt his tongue fall asleep from underuse and the twitches in his fingers had worn an actual hole in the wall beside him. He could not do this. He knew he would not be able to, but yet he came. Clint was an incredibly patient man: he has spent days cramped on top of buildings waiting for the perfect shot. But waiting for an empty room was agony.

      When Maria Hill had called the team together again, Clint had not answered. Natasha had to drug him and tie him to a plane seat. He would have taken the drug happily, if he had known what was to come. He would have been grateful for the few hours of scream-free sleep but instead he fought the whole flight, wriggling against Natasha’s bonds and forcing himself to stay awake. She did not turn around once, but continued to fly. Her shoulders were tense in a way even Clint could not read. In that moment he was more thankful for his friend than he would ever be able to express: she knew something that Clint did not, but she also knew not to tell him yet.

     The hospital at SHIELD reminded him of some of the laboratories he had raided in past. It was sterile and chrome and smelled of death pretending it was not. He did not want to see his handler here in this place no one should live, but once he saw his blurry outline through the observation window, Clint could not turn back. His fingers picked and pried at paint while his mind spat out scenarios and statistics the way he’s been trained. He appeared to be waiting. Inside he was screaming. thing He had let himself hope, but now he wished he hadn’t.

     The room was empty, with Natasha shooing the last doctor away. “If you really must” she had said “that’s what the one-way mirror is for”. He had no doubt she would keep them away from that too. The room was empty and the bed was full and Clint continued staring and picking another paint hole. That day he spent watching the helicopter had broken a wall in Clint that he had yet to repair. He was staring at his handler, his friend, his Phil Coulson, and this should be everything he wanted, but it worse than when Phil was dead.

     “You’ve been here the longest.” Clint began to step forward and stopped himself. “I assumed you had the most you wanted to say, by the look on your face when you saw me.” Coulson tilted his head to get a better view. “But you haven’t said a single word, Specialist.”

     The hole in the wall became a tear in his knuckle and the ache in his jaw became a badly stifled sob. One word can hold years of memory and specialist was an inside joke, a reprimand, an endearment, a reminder of who you answer to, and a name for those you trust with your life. All of it was gone. Coulson’s voice said specialist and only meant _Specialist Barton, someone showed me your file. That is your name and position, correct?_

     Clint had hoped and he wish he hadn’t. That small dream he had hid away, the one where sunshine warmed his back as he hugged his friend and let all the words he could never say flow into that contact. The dream where Coulson, that brilliant man, understood just by the tilt of Clint’s body and pulled him down, ignoring his wounds because they both needed to be held by the person they loved. Instead Coulson was cold and Clint was cold and everything he wanted to say was forced into a silent shake of his head.

     “There was nothing, sir. I’m sorry I wasted your time”.

     If Coulson couldn’t remember, Clint didn’t need to be there.

     The next time Maria called, even Natasha couldn’t find him.


	3. Who un-ironically likes Rick Astley?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is an idiot. Coulson still loves Supernanny. Things return to normal. Well, as normal as normal can be at Stark Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Challenge #3 - Watching a movie. Comments are welcome :)

This piece is accompianed with art [here.   ](http://coulsons-hawk.tumblr.com/post/37168921868/30-days-of-otp-day-three-watching-a-movie-on) 

* * *

    

     He lied.

     Clint was back in Stark Tower with the rest of them, eating and fighting and laughing. He was back to normal, he swore he was. It was a shock, he explained, and he handled it the way he usually does – going off the grid. Of course he was fine, he repeated, Coulson and Natasha have seen him disappear before. He always returned. And so he returned to SHIELD. It may have been year later, but he was here now and that is all that matters.

      Clint suspected Natasha knew where he had been the whole time. He was so grateful that he left her a note: _Remember Balakava City? Files just went missing._ She hugged him that day. They were sparring, and she may have been pinning him to the ground, but it still felt like a hug.

      A year had been what they both needed. Memory is difficult and surprising and incomprehensible. Add a glowing alien staff to that concoction and you had Coulson’s situation. He decided to imagine Coulson’s brain as his office after the massive SHIELD headquarters explosion a few years ago. Even with triple insulated walls and steel securing everything, Coulson’s file cabinets still managed to topple over. Coulson’s memories were those files: currently in a pile too difficult to decipher, but perfectly sensible once back in order. He just had to be patient as his handler re-filed his mind.

      Stark corrected him. It’s not an issue of relocating files in cabinets; it’s an issue of finding the one room in the one office building in a planet of office buildings. Inevitably the one room in the one building would have been set on fire and some files were lost in the wreckage forever and Clint found himself being pulled back by strong arms while Tony looked up through a newly bruised eye from his landing place on the ground. Natasha whispered in his ear and he could have cried. Coulson stood there at the corner, a question in his eyes. Clint did not care how much he had heard and what conclusions he was making.

      Natasha found him much later, fingers blistered and arrows turning the shooting range into a porcupine. She did not approach him, but let him relax on his own before speaking.

     “He wants to see you. He may not remember everything, but he remembers enough”. The doctors had said Coulson’s long-term memory was clear but everything within the last 1 to 3 years is spotty. That is three years of _Barton, you idiot_ and _Barton, I swear to god if you aren’t dead right now I am going to kill you_ and _Get your hurt ass to medical and do not complain because we need you alive right now. I need you alive_.

     “You wanted to see me, sir?”

      “I did.” He appeared the same: ironed suit, neat pile of files, swivel chair turned so he can put his feet on his desk. “How are you, Barton?”

     “How am I?” He snorted. Coulson’s eyes crinkled.

     “I remember that.” Clint was silent, slowly breathing to keep his heart rate even. “I remember long missions and calling for quiet on the coms and you refusing to listen and instead telling me every passing thought that you had regarding the weather and amusement park rides and the stupidity of jeggings. I remember road trips that neither of us wanted to go on but thank god for Romanoff because otherwise we would have killed each other, because honestly who un-ironically likes Rick Astley?”

     “I do.”

     “I know, Barton. That is the point. I remember all these mundane things. And they are mixed up with missions and locations and Stark ruining my office and my best suit, but I don’t remember why I feel…” He looked nonplussed. Clint couldn’t breathe. “I don’t remember finishing Supernanny. I hear Stark Tower has every season of everything.”

     “That was an unexpected subject change.”

     “I can be unexpected sometimes.” Coulson’s face showed Clint nothing; not even a minute upturn in his lips.

     “8 pm, then?”

     “7 pm and I’ll bring lemon cookies. Someone said they’re my favorite. Haven’t had a chance to try them since waking, though.” Clint frowned. Lemon wasn’t Coulson’s favorite anymore, not since Poland. Clint realized at the same moment Coulson did: he had some catching up to do. “7 pm. I bring cookies, you bring whatever equivalent to a scrapbook you have.”

 

     “Are you sure you don’t want to join us? Coulson baked.” Natasha smiled at him. It was weird. Clint immediately suspected she was planning something.

     “You two will be fine. I’ve got business to discuss with Banner. Hill wanted me to nicely propose a project to him. And you know SHIELD, I’ll be in there all night convincing him that it is not as dangerously irritating as it sounds”.

     “No one else want in?” He glanced at the team members currently in the room. It was just Steve, Natasha, and Tony at this point. Thor was in a land far far away and Banner was just as well, holed in the labs.

      “Don’t look at me, Hawk, I’m only upstairs for a minute because Cap still doesn’t have access codes to the lab”.

     “I only wanted to talk strategy about Fury’s Singapore plan. It is not my fault that JARVIS is too polite to interrupt you while you’re working, even when it is your team leader trying to contact you.”

      “You believed JARVIS? Then you deserved getting locked out. I programmed him to be sarcastic to you. If you can’t detect that-”

     “It’s a no from them both.” Red hair appeared by his side. “Cookies are in the TV room and Supernanny is already set up. You know what to do”.

      “Goddammit, Nat. I have no idea. I don’t know who am I to him anymore.”

     “You’re his friend, Clint. He hasn’t forgotten everything.” 

Clint made a whining sound. “But how do I ‘friend’? How can I just watch Supernanny with him like we used to?”

      “Don’t be difficult, Barton.”

      “Shut up, Natasha. I can be difficult if I want to.”

      “You know you sound like a whiny child.”

      “I can be a whiny child if I want!”

      “Then it’s good that we are watching Supernanny.” A casually suited Coulson hovered in the doorway.

      “When the hell did you sneak in here, Coulson?”

      “Somewhere between ‘don’t be difficult’ and ‘shut up Nat’. I’ve already eaten half the cookies. The ones you made are better than the others.”

      “How-”

      “Really, Barton? Yours were clearly the _irregularly shaped arrows_.”

      “They were supposed to be normal triangles, but Thor dropped in just as I was-”

      “Anything involving Thor would turn out irregular. I understand.”

      “Speaking of giant man-childs,” Clint needed to change the subject. His handler’s sustained gaze was making him twitchy. “I think your show is revved up and ready to launch.”

      “ Your metaphors need work”

      “You just woke up a year ago. Don’t make me knock you out for another two.”

      “You could try, but I highly doubt you would succeed where so many others have failed, Specialist.” And there it was. An almost imperceptible lilt in the word that let Clint know that his handler was recovering and soon (his hopeful side clung to soon) things would be com banter and shoulder knocks and medic visits against his will and Coulson running his own hands over Clint’s bandages because he doesn’t trust those damn medic trainees.

      He flopped down into Stark’s ridiculously comfortable couch and threw a pillow at Coulson. He caught the pillow without looking and placed it in his lap. Coulson realized what he did by muscle memory and looked to Clint for explanation. Clint simply swung around on the couch so his legs were resting on the pillow on Coulson’s lap.

      “Did we do this often?”

      “More often than you may remember.” He tried to keep his tone neutral. Coulson still picked up on that small shred of pain. He placed his hand on Clint’s knee without hesitation.

      “I may not remember now, but I will. The doctors have been charting my recovery and it has already been very positive-”

      “But what if you don’t. What if you never remember everything we did, everything you did these last few years. There’s been so much, even I can’t list it all-”

      “Barton, that’s it exactly. It isn’t each individual detail that I need to remember, it’s the overall…” He waved vaguely with his free hand.

      “Mood? Feeling? Vibe? Groove?”

      Coulson eyes crinkled in amusement. “Yes. People and places may still elude me, but I remember how I felt.” Clint’s grip on the remote was dangerous. He tried to maintain calm.

      “And how did you feel, sir?”

      “I felt happy.” Coulson was staring into Clint’s eyes while running his thumb slowly over his knee. Clint had no idea what was going on but his heart wanted to abandon ship and swim towards steady land. Ever since that day with the helicopter, it had been harder to compartmentalize and pack away his feelings towards his handler. And this? This was too much.

      “I am not going to ask a third time, Barton. Pass me the remote, I want to start my Supernanny.” The remote was silently passed over and the television started and Coulson’s hand was still on Clint’s leg and nothing made sense anymore.

      Clint was going to kill Natasha for abandoning him. And then he was going to hug her for letting him have Coulson to himself for a night.


	4. SHIELD doesn't have rules on how to get undressed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is a lovable bastard, Coulson is a bit old-fashioned, Steve tries really hard but no one listens, and Clint is an idiot again and again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Challenge #4 - On a date. Comments are welcome :)  
> This is the chapter that made me realize "Oh hey, this is now becoming a 'verse, not a drabble." I regret nothing.

 

This piece is accompianed with art [here](http://coulsons-hawk.tumblr.com/post/37245831213/30-days-of-otp-day-4-on-a-date-on-a03-1).   

* * *

 

            The anniversary of halfway destroying Manhattan had passed and recovery was clear on all sides. Buildings were repaired and streets were paved and enough pockets had been filled by Stark that there were no longer lawyers subpoenaing the Avengers on the street. Fury seemed to have politely waited just long enough before sending the team on the next large-scale assignment. There had been skirmishes and raids, but nothing like Manhattan. Perhaps the villains had waited as well. It had been a strange limbo but now phones were ringing and memos were sent and Fury had a plan. Singapore was their destination. What they had assumed was a small-time arms dealer was actually the cover for a large spiderweb network of hi-tech weapons development and distribution for a villain they had been sure was still in jail. The Avengers were needed because these weapons were finding their way into the hands of the enemies of the US, which unfortunately formed an army the size of a small nation.

            Captain America, full of his trademark patriotism, was giving a speech (or perhaps reciting a grocery list, Clint wasn’t listening) as they neared the drop point. Clint and Natasha were piloting the helicopter to land and Stark had decided to sit with the team rather than flying tauntingly close to the window and making rude gestures. Maybe it was out of respect for Coulson, who had recieved medical clearance and was along for the mission. Steve saw it as an opportunity to question Stark regarding the clean-energy movement. He didn’t seem to mind.

            They landed, camouflaged the copter, coordinated maps, and ran a com-check.

            “Widow, you’re following me until the command centre, where you’ll detain all personnel and interrogate them for information regarding distribution locations. Thor and Hulk, take the west and east entrances to split the guard forces. Iron Man, take out the rooftop communications before going to the rendezvous point. Barton and Coulson, go to the helipad so you can capture the leaders when they try to escape. Remember team, we are here to shut down operations, not to cause unnecessary bodily harm.”

            “Boring. I have new arrows from Stark and I still don’t know what they do.”

            “Please restrain from using questionable technology from Stark rather than SHIELD regulation ammo.”

            “Coulson, Coulson man, come on. The Hawk is nuts, I never gave him any new arrows, especially not electric nets or nailgun arrows or-”

            “Shut up, Stark. You’re an idiot.”

            “I’m hurt. You’ve hurt me Barton. I’m crying right now.”

            “You’re not very effective when I can’t see your dumb face. And that robot voice doesn’t really convey emotion.”

            “Guys can we-” Captain attempted to interject.

            “If I take off the mask, you’ll see my teary eyes and it’ll make you so sad that you’ll-”

            “Please don’t. I don’t want to start this mission on an ugly note.”

            “Are you calling me ugly, Barton? I’ll let you know I’ve won People’s Sexiest Man at least-“

            “I am sure the Iron Man has been awarded many of these Midgardian sexual awards but-” Thor attempted. Banner removed his earpiece with a sigh.

            “But that was at least ten years ago, right Stark? This Avenging business hasn’t exactly kept the years off. Not sure if Holly Housewife is going to vote for an old man-“

            “What? Like you’d ever win anything with that scowl and that haircut? I’ve seen your old circus costume. Makes it obvious why it took you so long to get a girl-”

            “Stark, stop.” Natasha warned.

            “Fuck you Stark. You hide in metal can painted like a stupid sportscar.”

            “Well I at least look good in my chosen colors. Purple, Clint? Really?”

            “I will ban you from the coms if you both do not stop. No insults on the airwaves.”

            “Coulson, since when has that been a-”

            “New rule. Starting now. Punishable by SHIELD law.”

            “I’m afraid to ask but-”

            “Punishment is completing weapon discharge forms for every mission in extreme detail. In triplicate.”

            “Hey! You know how many arrows I use per mission? _Per minute?!_ Why do I feel like this rule is just for me?”

            “Because you started it, Hawk.”

            “Stark, I will find you and I will shoot you with your own inventions.”

            “Avengers! There’s movement in the base.” Hill’s observation immediately launched the team into action. For all their bickering, the team still falls smoothly into the practiced choreography of their plan, with each member efficiently moving into place. Barton scaled up the building, choosing the highest spot on the roof where he could see all the launch pads below him. Coulson maintained his hiding place in a blind spot behind the roof’s helideck, relying on Barton to be his eyes. A series of ground-rattling shakes told the team that Hulk and Thor have effectively smashed open two new entrances. The sirens went off. Captain called orders. Hawkeye called shots. Iron Man blew shit up. It was so wonderfully familiar.

            “It’s nice isn’t it.”

            “Specialist. _Really_.”

            “Com silence, I know, I know. But it’s just so-“

            “I understand.”

            “Would it be weird if I said I was happy?”

            “Hawkeye! Is there or is there not at least five guards shooting at me from the communication towers?”

            He took the shots. “There aren’t anymore.” He paused. “You’re welcome, Stark. You frickin’ crybaby.”

            “ _Barton,_ don’t make me come up there.”

            “I tell you every time, Coulson, you can join me if you really want to. It’s a bit cramped but in a cozy way. You may get your suit a bit wrinkled, but its quality time with me. Come on, totally worth it.”

            Clint heard a quiet chuckle. _Success!_ “And no, it’s not weird. I’m happy too.” There was that feeling again. His heart was flipping and attempting to clutch at something he wasn’t sure was even there.

            “Elevated heart rate. You okay in the nest, Barton?”

            “Yes, sir. Just moved my position a bit to warm up.”

            “We’re in Singapore. It’s at least 90 degrees.”

            “I never said I was normal, sir.”

            “I know. Glad of it.”

 

            The mission was surprisingly quick considering everything that went wrong. Captain and Stark had been at the top of their game as a team and had quickly pulled Hill and Natasha out as soon as the floorplan proved different than expected. The ground level turned out to be a booby-trapped decoy, with the real labs being buried below. One hop from the Hulk made a shortcut for Thor who easily knocked aside the basement’s blast doors. The SHIELD agents found the new control centre quickly (there were signs in the halls. _Amateurs_ , Nat had remarked _._ ) Iron Man and Cap sought and destroyed the weapon manufacturing hubs before anyone could use them in battle. Barton was able to test out his Stark ammo (there really were nail bursts and electric nets. Even one that launched Furbies that had been modified to act like piranhas) on the surprise aerial support the base had called in, and Coulson dispatched the parachuting stragglers without even lifting his gun. The team met on the roof, minus some ammo but otherwise uninjured.

            “Hey, Hawkeye.”

            “Dammit, Stark. You have the face of a pretty pretty princess. Can we let it go now?” Clint was busy recovering all of his arrows. He didn’t trust leaving Stark tech behind in this place.

            Tony retracted his helmet, eyebrows waggling. “Glad to know you like me that way, but I gotta decline for now. I just wanted to see if you SHIELD buddies want to dine back in New York. I’m craving that Greek place we had after Doom’s last adventure.”

            “We are in _Singapore_ , aren’t you the least bit hungry for local food?”

            “Ehh. I’ve tried all the best places in the city already.”

            “Oh I forgot, Mr. Private Jet can have breakfast, lunch, and dinner in different countries if he wants.”

            “Boys. Play nice.” Natasha had a tiny smile in her eyes.

            “We are, we are! Look at us” Tony pulled Clint into a hug. “We’re friends, buddies. The dos amigos. We share life stories, drinks, and women.”

            “I sure hope not.” Clint jumped away from Stark, startled by Coulson’s interjection. “Sharing women with Stark seems detrimental to your health.”

            “If you are implying what I think you’re implying, Coulson, I’m shocked and appalled that SHIELD would think of me in that way.”

            “I’m sure you’ve hacked into your file by now, Stark. It says a lot worse.”

            “Hill, you think that too? Does everyone think I’m a incorrigible-”

            “Yes.” Banner spoke. Tony looked genuinely shocked. Bruce, a bit stunned himself, help up his hands like he was caught. “I’m only joking!”

            “It’s okay, Brucie.” Stark made a kissy face at him and threw an arm over his shoulder. “We’re science buddies. I know you’re only teasing me, coming from a place of love.”

            “I do love your lab space in Stark Tower.”

            “By extension you love me! I’ll take it!”

            “Canst we not decide our place of dining in a timely manner? The Midgardian breakfast is so puny compared to the feast on Asgard.”

            “Stark and the cool gang are going to New York. That means Banner, Thor, and Cap. You in agents?”

            “I will ignore you talking in the third person, because I really want a cheeseburger.” Hill took out her radio to call HQ to clear airspace.

            “That leaves you three. Come on Widow, we could use another female to balance out this overwhelming manly power. New York won’t be able to handle us.”

            “You’re paying for food and drinks, and we’re doing karaoke after.” Natasha ordered. “Barton’s going to stay because he has this foodie thing about trying a dish from every country. Coulson has to keep an eye on Barton because he’s an idiot. They both got their pilot’s license top-of-the-class. They’ll be fine. Goodbye.”

            “Jeez, Nat, leave a little room for the actual parties involved to speak.”

            “Nope. You’re a moron.”

            “Oh, so insults on the coms are a no, but in person is okay? Hey, Hawk, I think you look-”

            “I feel like this is an appropriate time to remind you, Stark, that I am always equipped with a taser.”

            “Point taken. Cool gang is leaving now.”

            “But there’s only one copter, Stark, and I’m taking that one.”

            “Ah, but my dear Hawk friend, I have a private copter that followed me here.”

            “Ah, of course!” Clint muttered. “Such an ass.”

            “Thanks for noticing. Its won awards!” Tony called over his shoulder. Natasha was the last to turn away, giving Clint a sustained glare to convey _You really are a moron_ one last time. He just stared at the departing group, wondering how the hell this happened.

            “Dinner? There’s a place a short copter ride away that intel tells me is good.”

            “Can I land on a non-regulation location? Scare the citizens?”

            Coulson laughed. A short laugh with humor actually _sparkling_ in his eyes.  Clint’s brain hiccupped. His handler shrugged, “Just don’t kill anyone. It’s too much paperwork.”

            “Yeah, sure. Yes” His mind was now running a million different scenarios and 93% resulted in awkwardness and 7% in bodily harm. He somehow managed to fly and land without damage (bless second-nature SHEILD training) and when he turned around in his seat he froze. Coulson had changed out of his standard SHIELD field uniform into –

            “Is that a _tee shirt_ , Coulson? And jeans?”

            “They’re the darkest wash I own. They’re barely jeans.” Coulson had a lilt to his voice that Clint had never heard before. Was that _nerves?_

            “What is this, what am I seeing? Is this a trick, Loki, and did you replace my Coulson with some sort of casual knock off?” Coulson flinched. “Shit! Sorry, still too soon, I get it. My default is bad jokes. And I’m an idiot. I don’t know how to- I’ve never seen you so-”

            “Shut up and get dressed. We can’t exactly stride into this place with body armor on.” He tossed some clothes at him, smiling. “ _Your_ Coulson insists.”

            “Oh god, you are never going to let me live that down. I really don’t know what I’m saying.” He started pulling off his pants. “Can we just remember that I was drugged earlier this week? And who knows with Nat, I could be having delayed effects.”

            “Pants before shirt? Really, Specialist?”

            “Don’t you _Specialist_ me. SHIELD doesn’t have rules on how to get undressed.” He wiggled into the jeans Coulson had handed him. “If we did, I am sure Stark would break them every day.”

            “I said how, not when.” There was a pause as Clint unzipped his vest and reached for the button-up in the clothes pile. “But perhaps I should reconsider. Without regulations on _when_ , one might find themselves in the middle of a SHIELD nude colony.”

            “You would just love that wouldn’t you, Coulson. Less paperwork, I’m sure.” Clint fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. “Is this even mine? I don’t think I own anything but tees and hoodies.”

            “Pepper sent the whole outfit. Thought it would be appropriate. We can’t have the locals thinking SHIELD is for sweatpants wearing slackers.”

            “Please tell me that Stark hasn’t used his Iron Man scanners to get my measurements for Pepper.”

            “No, I did.”

            “…Use Iron Man scanners?”

            Coulson gave him an exasperated look. “No, Barton. I already knew your sizes. I told Pepper.”

            He felt his cheeks flush. “Still a bit creepy, sir. But I guess I feel better that it was you checking me out rather than Stark and JARVIS.”

            “Speaking of checking-“ Coulson approached and ran a slow finger down Clint’s button placket. “Your buttons are wrong. You missed the second one and thus the subsequent buttons are out of place.”

            “Mama Coulson.” Clint spluttered. His head was thick. “I can dress how I want. Don’t be a clothes Nazi.” He brusquely started undoing buttons. “Is there a SHIELD rule about buttons? I bet there is. Bet you wrote it, what with your Dolce suits and cufflinks and fancy pants.” His hands were slapped aside by Coulson, who was trying not to laugh at Clint.

            “You really are an idiot.” He stepped in close and popped the buttons into place like an expert. “And we have reservations, so please try to tie your laces correctly.” Clint laced his shoes quickly, still smelling Coulson. _Shit shit shit shit what am I doing._ Coulson shrugged on his jacket and opened the copter door. “Come on, Clint.” _Did he just call me Clint oh my god what is happening what am I doing why did he put on that jacket, he was wearing short sleeves and-_

            “You have great arms. I’ve never seen them without a jacket.”

            Coulson turned around in the street to peer back at him. “What did you say?”

            “You, uh, have great taste in restaurants? And I’ve never uh, I’m not sure what’s happening here.”

            Coulson just patiently held the door open. “One could call this dinner.” Clint stepped inside, it was loud and bright and wonderful. “Or we could call this a date, if you are so inclined.”

 _Its noisy, I didn’t hear him right._ “What?”

            Coulson’s mouth twitched. “I overstepped. I apologize. I was clearly misreading-”

            “No no no, I would. I’m inclined, I’m all kinds of inclined.” He tugged Coulson further inside by his hand. “This is a date. We’re on a date.” _What is my face doing? I feel crazy, I’m grinning like a crazy person. I bet I look like a serial killer._

            “I am happy that you are happy, but you might want to tone it down so we can take our seats without someone thinking you’ve just gotten away with crime.”

            “You’re smiling too.”

            “But _I_ do not look like a murderer.”

            “Shut up Phil.” He grinned even more. “ _Phil_. Phil Phil Phil.” It felt good.          

            “Must I remind you,” Phil was chuckling. “I have a taser.”

            “Must I remind _you_ that you asked me on this date?”

            “I take all the responsibility. What was I thinking: Clint Barton and me, on a date?”

            “You were clearly out of your mind when you asked.”

            “Well, I technically still have a memory retention problem…”

            Clint’s face dropped.  “Oh…um, then are you sure that you want-” Phil cracked up.

            “Remember what I said about specifics aren’t important, but rather how I felt?” Clint was still tense. Phil took his hand and squeezed it lightly. “And remember how I said I felt happy? I lied.” _No. I can’t do this, I got too close, I knew it would go badly. I can’t handle this I need to run-_ Phil pulled him closer. “Clint- I felt loved. And I felt _in_ love. Losing my memory was the best thing that happened to me. I forgot all the reasons why I convinced myself that I couldn’t-”

            “Couldn’t what, Coulson?”

            “Couldn’t _woo_ you.”

            “Did you just say-”

            “Shut up Clint, you know what I mean.”

             Clint knocked his shoulder into Phil’s as they took their seats. “ _Woo,_ ” he whispered. Phil rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched up in a grin.

            _It was going to be okay. They were going to be okay._


	5. Potential energy is energy waiting to happen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "New lovers are nervous and tender, but smash everything. For the heart is an organ of fire."  
> (-The English Patient)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day 5 KISS  
> Comments and kudos are welcome :)

 

This chapter has art [here](http://coulsons-hawk.tumblr.com/post/37684852539/30-days-of-otp-day-5-kiss-1-2-3-4).

* * *

         

          Rough fingers grasped at Clint’s kneecap, forcing it to stop bouncing. He had become increasingly restless as the night grew darker. If he was still wearing his vital monitors, he was sure Phil would have sent him to medical hours ago.  Phil tilted his head slightly, pausing the conversation just enough to check on Clint. _I’m fine_ Clint squeezed his date’s hand _(Date!?_ He still reeled at the word).  The dinner had begun beautifully, but now the warm and inviting environment bore down on Clint like flames and his muscles yearned to nock, draw, aim, release, nock, draw, aim, release, and wear himself out in a refrain that he knew well.  This date was spinning into something Clint wanted to escape. They were talking comfortably, like they always do: the usual jibes and jokes so familiar over the coms.  They only occasionally stumbled over _Clint_ instead of _Specialist,_ and _Phil_ … He would never grow tired of saying _Phil_ and watching a spark go off in Phil’s eyes. But it was all a song they’ve sung before: easy banter between close teammates. That’s when Clint’s itches began. It was too comfortable already, so obviously this is not what Phil wants. He’s just humoring him, taking him out to dinner because Phil is wonderful and Clint is transparent in his desires. The night was sure to end permanently and Coulson would return and Phil would be gone, just a passing thought for Barton to remember when it was dark outside and he was trapped with his memories.

          Phil flipped Clint’s hand under the table, stroking the palm softly. No one had spoken for the last few minutes. Clint was hiding in his thoughts, already steeling himself for disappointment, and Phil hadn’t bothered to continue the one-sided conversation.

          “If you’re done eating we can leave.”

          Clint nodded. It wasn’t a question. Phil knew something was wrong here and he wasn’t going to push Clint to stay in that place. Even if he asked why, Clint wouldn’t have shared his insecurities anyways.

          The metallic shine of the copter hit him before he was prepared. The short walk was over, Phil was climbing the step into the vehicle and they would leave nothing but a dust cloud behind.  If Clint were a poet he would draw symbolic comparisons between the dust beneath the copter and the end of this date. Clint wasn’t a poet and all he draws are bows and he didn’t want this to end. Whatever this was to Phil, whatever he thought about Clint did not matter. The moment they flew away the beautiful limbo of their dinner together would dissipate in the hot air and turn into a dream, too sweet to have actually happened. He calculated time, speed, and distance. He had once chance.

          Clint sprinted to close the short distance. Phil turned quickly, hearing his footsteps increase. He pulled Phil toward him roughly, his forward momentum knocking them both into the copter door, and crushed their lips together. He let everything he’d been wishing, all the hopes he had painfully sheltered surge into the kiss. It was toothy and he had somewhat missed Phil’s lips, but it was everything he needed to say. Phil pulled at Clint’s shirt collar, closing that last desperate inch between their bodies. Only the need to breathe broke the kiss.

          “Clint, you had me worried. You’ve been avoiding eye contact and you stopped speaking.” Phil placed his hands on both sides of Clint’s face, gently forcing him to meet his eyes. “And then you essentially tackle me, only to miss my lips. Expert marksman, huh.”

          Clint laughed; he couldn’t help it. Phil placed a soft kiss on his lips, taking the laugh with him.  They breathed together.

          “I was afraid to lose this moment.” Clint mumbled, still pressed against Phil. “I was sure that I had screwed this all up and you were just playing along, doing a buddy a favor.”

          He was abruptly pushed back so Phil could stare at him. “What part of my behavior showed that I was just ‘playing along’? I took _you_ to dinner. I took _your_ hand. I _kissed you_ , Clint.” Phil pulled him inside the copter and made him sit. “What are you thinking.” He spoke as Agent Coulson; it was a command.

          “This whole night has been _too_ good. I don’t get the good things. Why would you and me-” he shook his head. “I just wanted the chance to kiss you before everything went back to normal.”

          Phil crouched down, hands resting on Clint’s knees. “You really are an idiot.” He leaned into Clint, lips ghosting over Clint’s as he spoke. “I am going to kiss you because I want to, because I want _you_ , and there will be no way you can misinterpret my action.”

          “Okay.” His breath was hot and already catching in his throat.

          Phil’s lips started sweet as his hands moved slowly up Clint’s thighs. Borderline chaste and too light, too little, and Clint pushed forward, wanting more.  He looped his arms around Phil’s waist, and tugged him into his lap. He received a chuckle in response, and then rougher hands and lips all at once. Phil pulled at the back of his hair, giving him a better angle to place open mouth kisses up his neck and jaw, and Clint couldn’t wait and he turned to catch those lips with his own. Phil’s hands never stopped moving, tracing up Clint’s arms and chest, finding that space in between his shoulder blades that made him lean back with a gasp. His sounds were swallowed by Phil’s glorious, delicious lips and he wanted this to stretch on forever and to find every little spot that made Phil vocal and-

          “I’ve been told that I have a sensitive neck. Apparently I whimper louder the closer one kisses to my clavicle.”

          Clint’s brain was as useful as pink mush. “Was I-”

          “Yes. You were waxing poetic about my lips outloud. I am glad my chapstick is met with such enthusiastic response.”

          The giggles started. And he couldn’t stop. Phil toppled off his lap with the movement, and Clint joined him on the floor still laughing. Phil calmly waited, stroking his back like he was a child.

          “I am an idiot.”

          “We’ve been _trying_ to tell you this –”

          “So this won’t be a passing thing? Chalked up to a Singaporean fever or something?”  

          Phil took his hand and kissed it. “No, Clint. This isn’t passing.  Not for me.” He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

          “Nor me.” Clint smiled and stretched out onto Phil’s body. “I am not sure how you got under me, but I am fully taking advantage of this situation.” He felt something vibrate below him. “Whoa Phil, what is that? Don’t tell me – “

          “That’s my phone. My SHIELD phone.”

          “Shit, that means Avenging business.”

          “Clint, you need to move.”

          “But I don’t wanna. You’re warm. I like it.”

          Phil rolled them over, like the trained agent he was, and pinned Clint to the floor as he answered the phone. He listened for a minute and then grunted an “understood” and hung up. His face told Clint too much.

          “Goddammit. Who is it this time?”

          “Stark. You don’t even want to know.”

          “I am going to find him and shoot him with his own inventions.”

          Phil pressed one last soft kiss on Clint. “You know the rules-”

          “And so do I. A full commitment's what I'm thinking of. You wouldn't get this from any other guy –“

          “Oh, no.”

          “I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling.”

          “Clint, no.”

          “Gotta make you understand.”

          “ _Barton, shut up and fly the copter._ ”

          “Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down!”

          “ _Barton- I swear to god, if you continue I am going to –_ “

          “Never gonna run around and desert you, never gonna –” Clint was gagged with a mouthful of Phil’s jacket. He had taken it off to put on a SHIELD issue jacket.

          “I’m leaving. I am going to fly this myself. Just stay on the floor, your current high level of idiocy would only make us crash.” Phil glanced at the laugh-stricken Clint who was still rolling on the ground. “Singaporean fever. That is starting to sound plausible.” Clint made a choking noise. “Barton, I’m only joking. Try not to die.”

          “It’s nice you still have some concern for me, sir.”

          “Not really, I am just fond of that jacket. I don’t want it getting even more destroyed by you.”

          Clint shrugged the jacket on. “What jacket? You didn’t have a jacket.”

          “We are going to watch _Supernanny_ when we get back to the tower and then maybe you’ll understand just how much of a child you are.” Clint stuck out his tongue. Phil rolled his eyes and started the ignition. Clint nuzzled into Phil’s jacket, breathing his scent, and grinning. Phil and Clint may be reverting back into Agents Coulson and Barton, but unlike what his fears may show, Clint and Phil would return. Those languid kisses and fast hands would return.

            They had potential energy and Clint’s rushed kiss made it kinetic.

            There was no stopping them now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for Rick-rolling you all.


	6. A Long Distance from Fine (or The One with the Slime)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A giant alien slime is attacking (of course) and Clint is an idiot (when is he not?) and Phil loses all his clothes (just like everybody always wished).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. (I really needed to plan out the rest of this madness before uploading each part. It has clearly gotten out of hand in the most wonderful way).
> 
> Challenge 6- Wearing each others clothes.

 This work has art [here](http://coulsons-hawk.tumblr.com/post/40656800546/ch-6-a-long-distance-from-fine-or-the-one-with).

* * *

 

           Phil tore off his shirt and threw it into the cockpit. He made quick work of his pants, kicking off his shoes while pulling them down. He was grateful he had worn a tee shirt for their date, as it allowed for fast removal. Clint was staring, trying to count every freckle and every scar on that newly revealed skin.

            “ _Barton._ You’re supposed to be helping me.”

            “Sir, I don’t-“

            “Poison alien slime is eating away at the front of the helicopter, my clothes have been infected, our team needs our help, _and I need new clothes._ ”

            “I think there’s something in the locker.” Clint sidestepped the toppled debris and rifled through the locker contents. “Uh, sir?”

            “I’m not picky, Barton. I can’t fight naked. SHEILD has a reputation that I try to uphold.”

            “Well, this option might not be any better for your reputation.”

            Clint was holding up the only clothes he could find, his old Hawkeye uniform from last year, before it got upgraded to sleek SHIELD black. It was a long-sleeved tunic, with intensely purple accents, and had an attached matching hooded mask.

            “Sorry, sir. I know it’s hideous. The uniform designer kinda attached herself to my circus past and stayed there.”

            “Is that a skirt?”

            “No, no it’s a…well it’s a –  Yes it is.” Clint grimaced. “I can’t believe I ever wore this in public.”

            “It’s my only choice.” Coulson pulled the purple monstrosity on, maintaining a heroic poker face. “But I’m not wearing the hood up. Visibility issues.”

            Clint stifled laughter, trying not to look him in the eye. “You just don’t want them to think you’re Hawkeye.”

            “We already have one.”

            “Damn right we do. A handsome one at that.” Clint fluffed his hair dramatically, trying to get a chuckle out of his friend. Coulson was distracted, rushing to the open helicopter door. The alien slime that had deterred their team midflight to New York was gaining the upper hand in the fight occurring below them. A well-aimed chuck of goo from the alien had caused an emergency landing for Coulson and Barton, and they were stuck on a rooftop overlooking the battle. Iron Man’s weapons seemed useless, leaving shallow pockmarks in the yellow sludge, which just reformed around the holes. Widow had quickly assessed the situation, and had since resorted to long distance attacks of projectiles, knowing better than getting too close to the acid. Captain’s shield fortunately appeared acid-proof, yet each time it sliced off a chunk, the slime just scooped the piece up and reabsorbed it. Hulk had jumped, fists swinging, into the goo and now Thor was too busy trying to drag him out to use his hammer. But as the rest of the team had learned, blunt force did not work.

            Coulson glanced down the side of the building, and across to the next, judging the distance. Barton appeared by his side, bow and arrows ready.

            “You thinking what I think you’re thinking? ‘Cause I’m all for it. Always wanted to try this move.”

            “Do you know what you’re doing?”

            “Sure. Well, I know the logistics. Haven’t actually done this with another passenger.”

            Coulson looked him right in the eye. “I trust you.” He said it so seriously that Clint couldn’t help but laugh.

            “That’s not the wisest idea, knowing me. But hell, I trust your judgment more than I trust my own. Let’s do this.” Barton pulled out an arrow with a large head and tubular tail. He nocked, drew, and aimed at the adjacent roof. He took a quiet breath and released on his exhale. The arrow flew from his bow, leaving a trail of rope from its tail. Midflight it exploded and the aerodynamic head broke to reveal a grappling hook form. It latched with a thunk onto the building’s roof. Barton tugged at the rope, feeling how secure it was. There was a loud squelching noise and the sound of cars crunching from the ground, and his resolve solidified.

            “We only got one chance at this. Hold on tight and tuck your knees up.” Barton wrapped the rope in a complicated knot around both their waists, pulling it tight. “Get closer.” Coulson wrapped his arms around Barton. “ _Phil this is literally a matter of life and-_ that’s better.” He had closed whatever centimeter distance there was between their bodies and Clint could feel each breath Phil took, hot on his neck.

            “Barton. _Go._ ”

            He leapt down, holding tightly to the rope swing and Coulson’s arms, feeling the wind too fast too strong, making his eyes water. He bent his knees and relaxed his leg muscles, keeping his legs together preparing for the impact. They smashed through the window glass, rolling in the impact, and Barton quickly cut the rope to keep them from being pulled back out. He reached around, loosening the rope around their waists. Coulson crouched over Barton, body barely separated from his, assessing damage.

            “Glass scrapes superficial and nothing seems to be broken. It’s good the distance was short. How are you feeling?”

            “Fantastically undamaged, glad I wore sleeves for once.” Coulson helped him stand, dusting glass shards off his jacket. “Whoa, Phil. Stop.” Clint gently halted his movement, taking Coulson’s hands in his own and turning them slowly. “You have some nasty looking cuts here. Did you not feel this?”

            His mouth twitched. “Adrenaline. I’m sure you’ve felt that before.”

            “If it’s anything less than a compound fracture I usually don’t see the need to bother. But Phil, _really_. We gotta clean the glass out.”

            “It can wait.”

            “Phil, I know you’re used to always taking care of me, so let me just –”

            “ _Hawkeye!_ It can wait.” Coulson was looking towards the broken window. It had gone quiet. Something was wrong. “There’s a fire escape a room over.”

            They appeared to have landed in a storage area for an office building. Barton made quick work of the locks on the door and slid the window up with ease. He beckoned Coulson over.

            “After you, sir.” He winked at Phil.

            “Polite. I like it.”

            “Well, you’re the one wearing a skirt.”

            “Barton, this is _your_ outfit.”

            “No time to argue, team needs us.” Clint winked, and with that both men were racing down the fire escape steps. They were only 4 floors up, but their fast steps rang like metallic thunderclaps in the quiet street. Clint looked quickly in all directions, squinting for evidence.

            “Slime trail leads left and around the corner. Trail of destruction stops before the end of the block. Looks like the team stopped attacking for some reason…”

            “Let’s hope it was a smart reason, not stupidly life-endangering.”

            “If it’s Stark…”

            “You’re here with me so the idiot factor is lowered by half.”

            “I am not even going to dignify that with –“ Barton had tensed and raised a hand for quiet. He was peering sideways into an alley. He broke into a relieved laugh. “Licking your wounds in the dark, are you?” He called out.

            “I’m not hiding, if that’s what your thinking. And I’m not alone.”

            “Whoa, Stark! I’ve heard you’re quick, but this is the middle of a fight, you don’t have time to sneak off and-“ Iron Man came limping out, leaning heavily on Captain. Parts of his armor were missing and the surface seemed warped and melted in places. He was scowling. Steve offered up a half-smile at them, dragging Tony further into the street. Tony caught one glance of Coulson in his purple outfit and his mood lifted.

            “Agent! I am shocked, floored even. I had no idea you had arms under that suit. And that purple is looking good,” his eyes widened with the realization. “Agent, is that _Hawkeye’s_ uniform? And Barton is in a suit jacket? If this means what I think it means, and of course it does because I’m a genius, I’m happy for you two, ecstatic. I’m surprised you moved so fast; with Barton I would have expected it yesterday, but I thought you’d have the smarts to play coy, but what do I know, Barton does cut a striking figure in his uniform so I’m sure he was a bit hard to resist once the ball got rolling and-“ Captain took the chance to jab him with his elbow to shut up. “Ow. Captain, don’t mistreat the wounded here.”

            “Report.” Coulson looked to Rogers for answers.

            “Stark decided to ignore my orders-“

            “Hey that’s not-“

            “And even though the alien clearly had acidic properties-“

            “I’m an engineer, Rogers, I like to test things, and I test things by _doing._ I was just testing whether-“

            “He flew through the slime attempting - what were you even trying to do?”

            “I thought I could blow it up from the inside.” Clint started giggling. “Shut up, Hawk. I have lasers and bombs and I build your arrows. You’re not allowed to giggle at me.”

            “Effective?” Coulson said, voice clipped.

            “Negative. We were lucky to get him out before the slime completely reformed around him.”

            “We were not lucky, not at all. Have you seen the state of my armor? This was my favorite armor and that alien had the nerve to-“

            “Aren’t all your armors your favorite armor?” Clint interjected.

            “No, this one was the shiniest and I had just gotten new paint details added-” Coulson gave Stark such an unamused glare that he stopped midsentence.

           “Captain, where is the rest of the team?”

           “When Thor pulled Hulk out of the slime, he changed back to Bruce. An unconscious Bruce. Last I saw, Romanoff had run off to grab him clothes and Thor was flying him out of trouble.”

           “Where was this?”

           “Building before the corner.” Steve glanced down at Tony, who was still leaning into him. “Can you walk?”

           “If the missing armor chunks and burns and lack of mobility in my ankle and the way I am clutching your side are any indication… I mean, I like you Cap but we’re not really at the weak-damsel-falling-into-your-arms stage yet.”

           “Point taken, Stark. Captain you watch out for him. Barton and I will press forward and find the rest of the team. Are your coms working?”

           “I fixed them when we landed, should be up and running now. We really need to fix the long distance service at some point; I swear I was accidentally picking up someone’s radio for a while. Made me think Thor and Natasha had morphed into a comedic duet.”

           “When we find the team, I will contact you and we can plan our next move. Stay here.” Coulson narrowed his eyes at Stark. “And try to stay out of trouble. I really hate unnecessary paperwork.”

           Barton and Coulson set off in a jog towards the end of the street. They followed the slime trail to the corner and stopped before turning. Coulson indicated at the ground. “Someone walked through the slime but then the footprints disappear here.”

           “Thor?”

           “Likely. He must have flown to a place above us.”

           “Are we going to have to climb? I really don’t want to climb. And I used my last grapple arrow.” Clint gave his handler puppydog eyes. “You’re the one in the sassy uniform…”

           Coulson looked up and his lips twitched. “I don’t think either of us will have to climb.” High above, on a balcony almost obscured by overgrowing plants, Thor waved at them.

           “Hello friends, “ He shouted. “Son of Coul and Hawkeye! Do you require a ride?” Barton and Coulson stepped a couple feet back. He swung easily over the balcony railing and landed in front of them with a boom. “The Hulk exerted himself in mighty battle and now Banner sleeps peacefully in a warrior’s natural form.”

           “Ah. So Romanoff still hasn’t returned with clothes.”

           Clint tugged at the Hawkeye uniform. “Too bad I don’t have another spare.”

           Thor looked back and forth at them. “Oh! I see you have donned your partner’s robes. Have you fulfilled the shield brother’s oath and bathed together in the sacred spring, to bond each other’s souls as one?”

           Clint spluttered, midway between a laugh and a cough of embarrassment. “Are you implying whether we-“

           “Thor, how long has Romanoff been gone?”

           “Lady Natasha left to fetch garb for Banner no more than ten-“

           “It’s been eight and a half minutes. ” Natasha dropped silently from a second floor window, clothes in hand. “Fly me up?” Thor nodded and allowed her to grab on to his arm and to balance on top of one foot. He bent his knees, raised his arms, and shot to the balcony.  “Nice outfit, Phil.” They heard her call out as she flew.

           “You are never going to live this down.” Barton chuckled. “Nat probably spent three of those minutes just taking photos of you from every possible angle. You know she’s gonna keep those for a day when she needs a favor.”

           “Again, this is _your outfit_ that you _used to wear_. I have photographic proof of that. Don’t forget.”

           Clint’s eyes widened. “Please tell me you’re joking. I thought I burned all of that evidence.”

           “SHIELD may keep very good photographic records of every Agent, but my personal files on you are more extensive and much more difficult to find.”

           Thor dropped down just then; holding an embarrassed Bruce in his arms, with Natasha delicately perched on his shoulders. Phil reached for his com.

           “Captain, this is Agent Coulson. The rest of the team has been found, no injuries. How is Stark?”

           “Stark is fine. Whining but fine.” Rustling was heard in the background.

           “I need to speak to Banner.” Stark had gotten ahold of the com.

           “Please use your own com, Stark. Basic courtesy. I need to speak to Rogers-“

           “Mine’s broken, acid sludge and such. I need to speak to Banner. Give me Banner.” There was a pause. “Please.” Coulson raised his eyebrow, but held his com out to Bruce who took it warily.

           “Yes?...Oh that’s right…yes the properties of gel do allow for…I think that…no, that would definitely end with far-spread reactions. Electronics everywhere would override and Siri would turn murderous… well, if you tweak the…that’s right…this may work…fine, yes, I will...” Bruce laughed warmly. “No, not at all. But thank you.“ He handed the com back to Coulson. ‘Tony has an idea. I think it might work.”

           “Stark has an idea that Banner approves of? Must be good.”

           “More like ‘incredibly dangerous’ but it seems to be the most effective way to combat the slime.”

           “What does this plan require?” Thor said.

            “How much lightning can you summon?”

           Thor grinned. He loved his lightning.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

           This slime does in fact have a weak point, as Tony and Banner hypothesized and then confirmed. It conducts electricity. And this alien slime conducted it so well, that when it overheated it exploded, splatting yellow goo all across the street and buildings.

           “Look for a central nervous system or something.” Tony shouted over the coms. “This thing has a brain of some sort and I don’t want it reforming on us like the pudding that wouldn’t die.”

           “Stark, that doesn’t even make sense-”

           “Shut up Hawk, I’m still smarter than you. Just kill the damn thing twice and then make sure it’s really dead by killing it again.”

           “Brain found. Permission to take it out?”

           “Negative, Widow. We don’t know whether it will also combust. Hawkeye, you have a sight on it?”

           “Of course. Natasha’s backed away. No one in the vicinity. Can I shoot it?”

           “Go.”

           There was a loud thunk and a fizzing noise. The tubular orange glop of a brain did not explode, but it spluttered out acid and chunks of who knows what into the nearby area.

           “See, this is why I hate slimy things. Look at that thing. What is that thing? Why is it blowing orange chunks? Why was it so determined to murder us all?” Clint climbed down from his roost on a fire escape across the street, joining his team on the sidewalk.

           “I don’t even care anymore about anything.” Stark pouted. “I want a hamburger. I would trade my tower for a hamburger.”

           “ _Our_ tower. And we’ve lost both our rides.” Steve look towards Coulson. “Can we call HQ from here?”

           “On it.” Phil fiddled with his com until the antenna slid out.

           “That’s what I’m talking about. An antenna. Why does SHIELD still use technology from the 90s? If you’d just let me-“

           Coulson pointedly walked away from the group, seeking silence to make his call. Barton trailed him. With a few short codewords, he had ordered them a helicopter that would depart from a nearby airport. He turned to Captain and flashed his hand indicating pickup in fifteen minutes. He tilted his head at Barton, waiting for the question he obviously wanted to ask.

           “Phil, it’s been bothering me since what Thor said about bathing and brotherhood and all that. How much about –“ Barton stumbled on his words, not sure what to say. “Well, how much about _us_ does everyone know?”

           “Considering it just happened? Everything except the fine details.” Clint gritted his teeth. “But let’s give the team some credit. I think everyone knew before you realized. Natasha sure did. Helped me set up the date in the first place.”

           “I had guessed Nat was in on it, but everyone else? I feel so out of the loop… So does that mean we can –“ he reached for Phil’s hand, tugging him gently closer. “Touch and other things in front of them now?”

            “Define ‘other things’. Some things are best reserved for private use, no?” He brushed his hand against Clint’s cheek, feeling his face blush. “Barton, it’s just common sense. Deserted streets are okay. SHIELD cafeteria, maybe not.”

           “I take that as a challenge.”

           Phil just smiled warmly, hand still cupping Clint’s face. He pulled him in and Clint looked down and suddenly pushed him back.

           “Phil, what the hell! When did that happen?” He called over his shoulder. “Anybody got a medic pack? It looks pretty bad. Banner, I could use you over here.” He glared at his handler, real anger heating his eyes. “You need to tell me about this when it happens. You need to tell someone. Take it from me, the human punching bag, it gets worse unattended.”

           Coulson examined his right arm. On the outside forearm he had a splatter of burns from the acid, red and swollen. There was one large burn that had caused Barton’s great concern. It was baseball sized and deeply red in the center, crusted with blood. It was ringed with yellow and green, like a bad bruise, and oozing a similar substance to the slime. He cursed under his breath.

           “I know you’re used to sleeves and layers but you really gotta be more careful. Why didn’t you say anything?”

           “Adrenaline.” Clint eyed him, not fully believing that excuse anymore. “Remember when I said I trust you?”

           “Not a wise choice.”

           He half-smiled. “Probably not, but that comes with the whole _being in love_ thing.” Clint’s face contorted, trying to both grin hugely and to downplay his obvious happiness at the words. Phil felt a twinge of guilt. “Do you trust me Clint?”

           “Yes, I do.” He surprised himself with how true his words were. Clint trusted this man, this wonderful brilliant man with his life and his secrets (most of which he was sure Phil already knew. See: _brilliant_ ). He’s stunned at how unequivocally he trusted him.

           Phil picked up Clint’s hand with his uninjured arm and kissed it lightly, just before Banner came running over with whatever medical gear he had scrounged from the team.

           “Then please don’t worry. I’m fine.” Phil repeated it in his head _fine, fine, fine_. Maybe if he said it enough, it will be true.

           In reality, Phil was a great distance from _fine_ if he had ever even been that. He was faking. And he wondered how much longer he could maintain the charade before he fell apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about that guys.  
> I hate ambiguous cliffhanger things too. I swear it will all make sense soon.
> 
> (I still don't understand how these 'drabbles' have become this long monsters, but I hope you enjoy!)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


	7. I seek the noise because in the pause I hear the ticking clock.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil is hurting.  
> Clint is missing.  
> The clock is ticking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Challenge #7- Cosplay

       The ride back to New York was long and tense. Bruce had patched Phil’s arm up with various salves and creams, but he had already called ahead to have a ride to SHIELD’s medical ward waiting at the landing pad. Clint alternated between grimacing out the window, pointedly avoiding conversation, and giving Coulson a stony glare with eyes too sad to contain real resentment.

           They landed. Tony found Happy with a waiting car, ready to go for hamburgers and ignoring Steve’s concern for his sprained ankle. Phil was immediately whisked off in an unmarked car. He went alone. Clint had disappeared the moment the team had disembarked.

           “Did Hawkeye not want to join his bond brother to the medic?”

           “Something’s up with those two, I must have blinked and missed the fight they had. Whatever, I hope they kiss and make up sex and happy endings, but I’m hungry for meat. Can we get a move on?” Tony tapped the car door expectantly.  

           “Tony, really,” Steve sounded exasperated. “Natasha, should we be worried?”

           She shook her head. “There’s something that still hasn’t been said between them. They need to work it out on their own.”

           “Lady Natasha speaks wisely. Their battle seems a private one; we should not step between them.”

           “Awesome, cool, we got that figured out so no worries. My stomach isn’t going to feed itself, let’s go.” Tony half-collapsed into the car chanting ‘Meat, meat, meat’. Steve rolled his eyes, helping Tony scoot over to leave room for the others. Natasha was the last to climb in the car. As she reached to close the door, she quickly dropped an old scratched penny onto the sidewalk. She knew Clint would find it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

           Phil was cold. He had been given plain cotton pyjamas in the medical bay to change into (after much stifled laughter at his purple outfit) and they were too thin for the air conditioning pumping through the vents.  He tried to nap, knowing he needed the rest, but anxiety made a poor bedmate. Phil was worried, like he usually was, about Clint. He had sensed that the man would vanish in order to collect his thoughts, but it had been almost a full day since being checked into the hospital and Clint had yet to appear. His burn was not going to heal quickly, but it would heal. SHIELD, thankfully, had dealt with alien slime in the past and had already formulated an ointment specifically for acid sludge damage. He could have checked himself out of medical with a few threats of increased paperwork, since he could just apply the salve on his own, but he stayed. And he waited. He did not want to stray too far, even though he knew Clint could find him anywhere if he chose to look.

            He was in a private room, but he had requested one with a view of the courtyard. When the doctor had finally left, Coulson forced open the underused window with his less injured arm. The air outside was slightly warmer and he welcomed the breeze. He looked out at the sculpted garden that no one ever sat in. He glanced back at the stiff bed, sighed, and climbed gingerly out the window. Out of habit he chose a corner bench that was mostly obscured by plants.  He was hungry for something other than SHEILD’s cafeteria fare, but even the temptation to sneak out for pancakes from the diner a few blocks away was not enough of a pull. As the doctor was writing his prescription for the burn balm, Phil had one inquiry. And now he had an answer. It sent him deep into his mind: searching, thinking, and weighing the pros and cons.

            “Rescue Operation: Careless Idiot is a go.” Phil’s head snapped up. It was Clint’s voice, but he was looking at a brown haired man with a dark trenchcoat and a blue scarf wrapped around his neck. His crooked smile was unmistakably Clint. “Did I really catch you unguarded and unaware? What kind of SHIELD agent are you?” He held out a plain brown grocery bag.

            “I wasn’t unguarded, just thinking.” Phil pulled out a plaid button up and a tan cable-knit jumper. “What is your plan for this _rescue operation_?”

            “One, you needed layers because I know you’re cold in this air conditioning. Two, we needed disguises to sneak out of here unnoticed. Three, I’ve always wanted to wear a trenchcoat.” Clint struck an exaggerated model pose, and pouted his lips. “Good?”

            “Silly.” Phil climbed back in the window, Barton gliding in behind him. “You found me quickly, considering this is a heavily disguised SHIELD hospital.”

            “Natasha left me a clue.” He tossed a penny at him. A few digits had been etched after the date, corresponding with street coordinates.

            “Smart girl. Using what I taught.” Phil had pulled on his pants and plaid shirt without much trouble, but his cut hands were stumbling with the buttons. Clint stepped in, knowing Coulson would never ask, and finished zipping his fly and buttoning his shirt. It was silent and efficient, although slower than Phil would have done himself.  Clint’s hands barely touched him, even when so close to his skin. He knew something was still haunting Clint’s mind, keeping him distanced from Phil. He pulled on the jumper and folded the borrowed pyjamas, leaving a neat pile on the pillow.

            “Clint?”

            “You ready? I’ve already plotted the best route out. There are a couple dodgy places where we gotta avoid cameras, but we’ll be out in five.”

            “ _Clint_.”

            “The name is Holmes, okay? Yours is Watson. Codenames for security in case we’re overheard.” Clint squinted down the hallway, checked his watch and counted. He turned to Phil, briskly nodded, and began leading them down the hall. It was eerily quiet and Phil could distinctly hear Clint’s controlled breathing.

            They made it out of the hospital and down the block to the hidden getaway car in four minutes. Clint drove, recklessly as usual, but without the usual banter and loud sing-alongs to terrible music. Phil slid his eyes sideways at him, trying not to raise suspicions. His hands were tight on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white at the force. Clint may have come back, but he was clearly not back to normal.

           In their literal radio silence, Phil became painfully aware of his watch’s tick. There were only a finite number of ticks on a clock; the battery would run out eventually. If Clint wanted to avoid their inevitable conversation, Phil could wait. He just couldn’t wait forever.

* * *

This chapter has art [here](http://coulsons-hawk.tumblr.com/post/40662376464/clint-has-a-weird-idea-of-what-constitutes-as).       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are quickly beginning to grow darker, aren't they.
> 
> (with all this talk of clocks, maybe it should be Coldplay not Cosplay challenge. ehehehe)
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated :)


	8. "Odd, but nice" should be Phil's life summary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint wants to be a Playboy Bunny, Tony is a ridiculous man-child, Steve puts on his therapist hat, and Phil leads a very interesting life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Challenge #8, 9, 10  
> Shopping, hanging out with friends, wearing animal ears

The car alarm was blaring, the paint was most definitely scratched, and Clint still hadn’t gotten out of the car.

            “Clint, I’m sure it’s fi-“

            “That’s Stark’s car.”

            “You don’t know that.”

            “License plate is STARK18.”

            Phil held his breath, trying not to sigh and worsen the mood. Clint had been gripping the wheel so tightly, that he turned too fast while parallel parking and slammed into the back of the other car. Blue paint was scratched against red in the most obvious way. Barton was now in full fight-or-flight mode.

            “He’s gonna make me pay for that. What is that, the new Acura? Custom, probably. How the hell am I gonna pay for that? Stark isn’t exactly my biggest fan and maybe I should’ve stopped hiding his coffeepot in different places everyday but it was just for fun and-“ Loud tapping on the window glass interrupted Clint’s spiraling. Tony stood there, face half obscured by novelty sunglasses and a cowboy hat. He pointed at the Acura and laughed. Clint rolled down his window, still tensed and ready to flee.

            “I’ve been looking for a legitimate reason to buy another one, so thank you for that scratch. A new model is about to come out and they promised to let me add ejection seats if I bought one but Pepper declared I had too many cars and threatened to freeze my accounts, like she can even do that. Wait, _can_ she do that? I forget which account numbers I’ve given her, but anyways, I can now say the car was in an accident and it isn’t a lie.” He stared at Barton, only just noticing the frozen facial expression. “You joining us, or what? Steve is already inside and complaining about wasting valuable time, something about a birthday, something about responsibility, whatever I stopped listening once I saw the costume racks. They have a whole rack just for _silly_.”

            Clint laughed with Tony, still a bit shaky. He got out of the car led by the promise of honking clown noses and bright Hawaiian shirts. Phil walked behind them, giving Clint some room, and rethinking his last few decisions. He was shopping with some of the most trouble-making members of his team, doing what he can only label as _hanging out_. It was unusual for them to do bonding activities outside of a fight. Odd, but nice. Clint had agreed quickly to Tony’s message to meet at the Couture Costume Casbah. He claimed they required new disguises. Phil didn’t mind: he needed the distraction from his thoughts. Phil was beginning to think Clint might have guessed half of his unspoken news already, which only increased his anxiety. As he joined Steve in the store, away from the two man-childs playing dress-up, he made a mental memo. He would wait until the end of the week. He would speak with Fury, weigh his options, and then he would force Clint to listen.

            Steve smiled at Phil, glad to see another sane member of the team. Phil gestured at Tony’s ankle wrap. “Should he be walking?”

           “It’s a bad bruise, mostly, but it’s not like he’d stop if I told him.” Steve rolled his eyes at Tony pulling a blue wig over his head. “He’s acting ridiculous. I told him we need to go shopping for Pepper’s birthday and he said she usually buys herself a gift. I’ve been trying to explain to him why that’s not okay but-“

            “If she’s happy spending my money, why should I buy her something she won’t like anyways?” Tony said, approaching them while wearing a hula skirt. He gave a shimmy. “You like?”

            “Tony, seriously. Let’s go to the department store like we planned. Pepper would love to know you spent the time picking something out yourself. That means a lot more than any dollar amount. She’ll like it because _you_ picked it.”

           He shrugged and went back to the costume rack. “I don’t know the first thing about this, Steve. I don’t really do the whole thought-that-counts, heartfelt gift thing. Money tends to speak louder than feelings.” Tony turned pointedly to Clint, who was trying on various animal headbands. “Go with the bunny, trust me on this.”

           “Should I grab that purple corset and complete the whole Playboy look?” He took it off the rack and draped it across his chest. “Can I pull it off, Stark? Or should I give up any hopes of joining the Bunnies?”

           “It’d be better if we could see some leg, but-“

           “I can imagi- _we_ can imagine it,” Clint raised an eyebrow at Phil’s stumble. “No need to scar all the employees. They haven’t filled out the proper disclosure forms anyways. They are not allowed to see that much of an agent without the paperwork.”

           “Only you would have paperwork for how much skin I’m allowed to show.”

           “Speaking of irresponsible things adults should not do, Stark please put down that princess dress, it will not fit you, nor is it a good color for your skin tone. Steve is correct. If you are shopping for Pepper than-“

           “Aw come on, Coulson, you too? But I wanna stay here all day and-“ The combined force of Phil and Steve’s glares was too much for Tony. “ _Fine,_ I will go pay for this stuff and then we can leave and do responsible adult things like you want.” He snatched the bunny ears from Clint.

           “Man, come on! I wanted those-“

           “I know, I’m paying.”           

           Clint feigned a huge gasp.“I don’t know what to say, Tony! Suddenly you’re so nice to me that I just-“

           “It’s more a gift for Coulson, but fine, whatever. Congratulations Clint, I don’t think you’re scum, so have this costume thing as a reward.”

           Steve glanced over at Coulson, who maintained a poker face although his cheeks showed just a tinge of pink. Steve looked him up and down, reading his body language. “Phil, are you okay?”

           “Steve.” Phil gave him a look that clearly meant _Do you want the lie ‘I’m fine’ or the honest shit?_

           “It’s unsolicited, but I do want to tell you that I-,” He shifted, unsure of how to proceed. “I respect you. You’ve always shown such high integrity and you’ve always made me feel welcome at SHIELD, even when this new future felt so strange. And you’re probably the only one that maintains some level of sanity at Avengers tower.” Phil’s lips twitched up at that. “But Phil, I’ll be honest: I’m conflicted. I am still Captain America of the Avengers, and I need to maintain a team that runs smoothly. One that is not conflicted or uneasy with each other. But I also consider myself your friend, and a friend of Clint. If there is something happening, something I need to know…?”

           Phil looked uncomfortable. He broke the eye contact, choosing instead to watch Tony flirt with the cashier to get every color of bunny ears they carry. “Steve, I appreciate your concern, but it is unnecessary. I will fix this within the week.”

           “Okay Phil, I trust you.”

Phil felt his inside shrink a little. He made another mental note: _talk to Fury tomorrow, this needs to be resolved soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated :)  
> If you have any guesses as to what is about to go down, feel free to share. Funniest ones get a prize.


	9. the Avengers go bananas for pyjamas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil needs to learn to never be surprised when it comes to the Avengers...  
> (or the chapter with the lingerie and drunken mistakes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Challenge #11 wearing animal PJs, 12 making out

           Phil grabbed Natasha and pulled her aside. “You did not tell me that there was a _slumberparty_ happening.” He whispered roughly in her ear. It had been a long day of Clint ignoring his calls and texts, and now he arrived at the tower to talk in-person but was blocked by pyjamas, popcorn, and terrible movies.

           Natasha gave the slightest shrug. “Clint suggested a team-bonding night. Steve loved the idea and Tony offered to fund it, so of course everyone came.” She stepped back from Phil, giving him a look. “Didn’t you get the memo about pyjamas?”

           “No.”

           “Best ones get a prize, and knowing Stark, it’ll be a car.” Phil glanced at her clothes. She was wearing a patterned oversized tee over red bedazzled leggings. The print illustrated a disturbingly detailed female black spider eating the male spiders.

           “Where did you even-“

“Etsy.” She gestured at the room. “I think I’ve already lost, though.”

           She may have been right. Phil was unsure of whom to look at; the whole team was bedecked in patterns and colors that made the room look like a carnival. Tony, ever the show-off, was decked in luxurious lingerie: red silky hotpants with a pom-pom tassel, itty-bitty lace-up bralette, and a sheer feather-trimmed robe to top it off. Banner was most likely not participating in the contest, and wore a simple matching shirt and pants set that looked checkered, but on closer inspection revealed a pattern of the periodic table. Thor must have taken cue from Tony (which was always ill-advised) and wore a woman’s blouse and pant set in a soft powder blue with a plethora of lace and bows. Steve must have planned to go the joking route, wearing a licensed Avengers PJs featuring the whole team in terrible “action” poses and an explosion in the background. Clint, of course, joined the contest merrily, wearing what was most likely a boy’s tank with a dorky looking owl with large googly eyes flying over a purple background. His yellow pants clashed awfully and were headache-inducing in a hypnotic bullseye print.

           Clint ran up to Coulson, giddy with –if Coulson smelled correctly – chocolate liqueur milkshakes and Guinness floats. Clint nearly collided into him, as he glided on the hardwood floor in his socks, clearly under the influence of very sugary alcohol.

           “Hey, sore thumb, I gotcha PJs to wear.” He tugged at his tie, pulling it out from where it was tucked into his suit. Phil swatted at his hand, but Clint just kept pulling. “Upstairs, upstairs, upstairs.” Clint chanted.

           “ _Agent Barton_ , unhand the tie.”

           He could hear Tony laugh heartily. “You better listen to your handler, Hawk, elsewise he won’t let you handle him later.”

           “Tony, I think you’re drunk. Let’s get some water and leave them alone.” Steve led him away from the group, heading to the kitchen. Phil gave him a tiny nod of thanks. Clint continued pulling on his tie.

           “Up _stairs!_ ” He was acting like a child. There was no course of action but to follow, half being led and half keeping him upright, to Clint’s room in the tower. Just before Phil left the eyesight of the team, Natasha tilted her head, a question in her eyes. He just shook his head. He could handle it.

           Phil entered the familiar room ahead of Clint, who shut the door loudly behind them. He grinned, cheeks pink from alcohol and eyes shining. “Sorry I haven’t been answering you. Been busy.” He slid downward on the door a little, clearly needing the support to keep standing. Phil tensed up. Clint was drunker than he had originally thought. “I missed you.” _Dammit._ He was giving Phil the saddest puppy eyes and holding out his bare arms for a hug. This could only end badly.

           “You said you have pyjamas for me?”

           Clint retracted his arms, pretending he had only been stretching. “On the bed. I was so happy when I saw them, and they’re awesome looking, so I bought them for you instantly.” Phil picked up the bag and pulled out the contents. He held up a matching shirt and pants with a colorful print of birds flying all over. “Birds are cool and they fly and look cute, but are actually big pains in the ass, like you. There are big eagles for Captain, of course. And hawks, ‘cause, well, yeah.” Clint had retreated back into doe-eyed mode.

           “It’s great.”

           “D’you think so? Cause I looked all over forever and I saw these I’m glad you think they’re great ‘cause I think they’re great and they’d be great on you so you should put’em on.” He leaned into Phil’s arms, pulling his shirt out from his pants. “Shirt off, pyjamas on.”

           Phil pulled back from Clint, gently pulling his hands out from under his shirt. “Clint, I’m not planning to stay the night.”

           “Don’t need to stay long.” He wrestled his arms back, and snaked his hands around to Phil’s ass and pulled him in. “We can do somethin’ quick.”

           “ _Clint_ , be sensible.” He was nuzzling into Phil’s neck, making words harder to come by. “There’s a room full of people just below us-”

           “This is Stark’s tower, I am sure the walls are soundproof enough to-“

           “Full of people who expect us to appear downstairs soon.”

           Clint chose this moment to press his body close and increase the friction between them. He trapped Phil’s face between his hands. “ _Screw. People._ ” Any protests Phil wanted to make were swallowed by Clint’s mouth. Hot, open, and rough, Clint pushed in, clearly not allowing Phil to say no. Any other night, this would have been delicious. Clint’s desperation for more friction, more skin, more heat, would have made Phil’s head foggy and his body shiver, but not tonight. Clint’s kisses tasted like liquor. In one swift move, Phil spun Clint around and pinned him hard on the bed.            

           “Whoa, Phil,” Clint chuckled, “All you had to do was ask, if you wanted to-“

           “I will have JARVIS confine you to this room unless you switch to drinking only water.”

           Clint thrashed underneath Phil’s strong arms. “JARVIS can’t make me do anything, I’m good at escaping from rooms.”            

           “Natasha will help.” Clint stopped moving. “You are drunk and we’d both regret it. I will see you tomorrow.” He refused to meet Phil’s eyes, turning away as far as he could while still under him. Phil stood up, and offered a hand to Clint. “See you tomorrow?” He asked softly. His extended hand went ignored as Clint stubbornly stayed on the bed. Phil walked to the door, tucking his shirt in as he went. Clint was silent and still, only his eyes following Phil as he left.

           He wasn’t completely drunk. Clint was sober enough to breath out “ _Well, fuck_ ” as the door closed. He was sober enough to know he’ll remember this in the morning. He rolled over onto his side bringing the covers with him and knocking the bag of Phil’s pjs to the ground. Clint stared at the birds taunting him in their flight. He threw the covers over his head hoping sleep would come.  He didn’t want to go downstairs. He wanted to follow Coulson. But he couldn’t have both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter coming up ASAP   
> comments and kudos are appreciated :)


	10. “We’re both idiots. But we’re happy, right?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whipped cream and (technical) genderbending and a loose definition of "Work appropriate".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last installment of these two dumb SHIELD agent idiots and their big dumb hearts.

           The kitchen appeared to have been hit by a whip cream hurricane. Phil had rushed to the tower after receiving an unexpected, garbled phone call from Clint, but when he stumbled upon the piles of white splattering their usually (somewhat) clean kitchen, he made a detour. He found what he sought collapsed, empty ice cream cartons littering the floor, in the adjacent living room.  
              
           “You have one sentence to explain what happened.”

            “Tony issued a challenge that I knew I could win.” Clint attempted a feeble roll sideways so he could see Phil better, but he seemed too bogged down with sticky sugar remnants.  
              
           “Just for the record,” Tony emerged, staggering, from behind the couch. “I still won the contest. And Clint cheated. You made my flavor pistachio with mint and whipped cream. Who the hell does that to a friend?”  
              
           “Nooo, you and _your_ stomach cheated.” Clint gestured with his foot in Tony’s general direction. “You never eat anything but coffee and liquor. It was easier for you to cram it full of ‘cream.”

            Tony waddled over to his fallen comrade, kicking his stomach lightly, and making him groan.  “You’re _filthy_. Get off my floor.”  
              
           Clint chuckled. “Not now, Tony. Not in front of Coulson!”  
             
           Tony tapped him again. “No, seriously, get off my floor. I need to let the robots in to clean.” Clint made a big show of hauling himself up, using the couch to stabilize as the sugar rush in his head made him wobble.

            “Go shower.”

            “Is that an order, Phil?” Clint’s voice was joking but his face looked unsure, trying to read his mood.

            Phil reached out a hand slowly, to be non-threatening, and stole a streak of cream from Clint’s cheek and popped in into his mouth, licking it clean. “You have half an hour. I’ll be in the study when you’re done.” His mood couldn’t have been clearer.

           Tony let out a low whistle and Clint thwacked him as he passed. “Your jealousy is showing, Tony.”

           “Why would I be jealous of you? I’m rich, I have more fans, better hair, and-“

           Clint strode out of earshot, grinning. Phil in flirt-mode was a rare Phil indeed. He left a path of clothes behind him in his scramble towards the shower. As he ran his hands quickly over his body, rubbing the gooey streaks of ice cream away, Clint began to think. His hands slowed. _Phil just flirted with me in public. This was abnormal._ He stopped moving entirely, the water cascading off his still body. _I’ve been hiding from him all week; I don’t deserve an impromptu whatever-this-is._ He leaned against the warmed tile, needing something steady, something solid. The instincts that frequently saved his life - those gut feelings that tell him who is a potential threat and warn him when there’s a trap - had been itching in the back of his head since Phil first lay in that white hospital bed with his memories lost. Everything had been too good since then, with his memories returning and their _thing_ starting, and Clint’s stomach had never fully settled. Then Phil landed back in the hospital and Clint’s instincts were klaxons. He had been incredibly stupid, trying to ignore it and shuttering Phil away. He swatted the water off and stared without seeing at the rivulets of water on the shower door. He could just make out his distorted reflection off the glass.

Clint was so good at running and hiding that he had completely lost the ability to handle confrontation. He heard a knock on the door. He turned the water back on.

____

 

           Phil was no longer a patient man. He had resorted to pure dirty tricks to entice Clint to follow him. He was frustrated and trying not to show it, but Clint had a way of itching his skin enough that Phil had to scratch. He had sat, determinedly unmoving on the couch in the study, for exactly thirty minutes. He had counted seconds in his head, to drown his own thoughts. He was unsuccessful.  
            He strode to Clint’s door, mouth turned down, and knocked. He heard running water. A shower, even on day without a mission, was a luxury, and so Phil walked away. Clint could have fifteen more minutes. Phil hadn’t seen the team since the drunken slumber party. Some hellos (and reprimands) were in order.

____

 

           Hello had turned into talking research updates with Banner to lunch with Cap to a sparring match with Natasha and Clint had yet to emerge from his room. As the hours had passed, Phil’s frown had deepened but he continued to wait because, as much as he otherwise pretended, he was afraid.   
            Natasha easily pinned him to the ground, only lightly twisting his arm behind him. Neither of them was very focused on the sparring. She helped him up, her hand lingering on his, eyes holding a question.  
             
           Phil sighed. “I’ll go talk to him now.”  
  
            He no longer heard water, but the sounds of classic rock met him at the door instead. Phil didn’t knock, but just walked in through the unlocked door. Clint was sprawled horizontally on his bed, wearing only boxers, with his laptop resting on his stomach. He was bobbing his head to the too-loud music, making his movements on his trackpad erratic. Phil snuck in beside him and snapped the laptop lid down.  
              
           “Hey! I hadn’t finished-“  
              
           “Clint.” He took the computer from him, laying it on the bedside table.  
              
           “Tony gave me a bunch of programs and shit and I was messing around in Photoshop-“ Phil sat on the bed next to Clint, staring at him levelly. “And I think I figured out what you’d look like if you were a girl. Pretty cute, actually, but I don’t think I saved it before you-“ He was shut up by Phil leaning across him, placing a light kiss on his lips. Clint reached, wanting to pull him down, but his hand was met with air. Phil had leaned back already, a pained expression on his face.  
  
           “Where are you?” Clint tensed at Phil's word choice. Not ‘Where have you been?’, not ‘Why have you been avoiding me?’, but ‘Where are you?’ with the unspoken ‘Are you with me now?’ Phil’s body language made Clint’s stomach squeeze tight. There was something fragile and broken in the lines on his face, but his shoulders were a squared contrast, determined to see this through.  
  
           “I’m here now Phil.” He broke the silence. “I’m sorry I haven’t been. I’ve been shit to you all week, don’t even try to deny it.”  
             
           “Wasn’t planning to.”  
   
           “I haven’t seen you smile since the hospital.”   
  
           “That isn’t true-“  
  
           Clint sat up, abruptly invading Phil’s space. “It _is_ true. You’ve fake smiled but you haven’t _smiled_. You haven’t smiled at _me_. It’s bad isn’t it? It’s really bad. Hell, your ties have been crooked all week and you haven't even noticed. Things have been weird since Singapore. I was scared, Phil. I thought I had fucked up. I thought it was _me_. But it’s you, isn’t it? This isn’t about our relationship or SHIELD protocol. You wouldn’t be so worried if it was that; you’re goddamn Agent Coulson and Fury doesn’t give a shit about our personal lives outside of work. It’s something else.” Clint withdrew, dejectedly leaning back into the bed pillows. “I’m _scared_ Phil… and I would rather not know.”  
  
           “Would you really?” Phil said quietly.

           Clint shrugged. “Yes? No? I don’t… I’m bad at people, Phil. I’m bad at dealing with things in front of people. That’s why I hide. I don’t want to show what I’m thinking until I’ve figured it out myself.”

           “You’re a lot like me, Clint.”

           “At least you’ve got a good poker face.”

           “Do I?” Clint looked up. “Do I really?”

           He studied Phil’s face for a long moment. “Something is _really_ wrong.” Phil’s eyebrows were scrunched together showing blatant distraught and fear. “Oh, god, Phil. I’m such a dick.” Clint scooted across the bed, pulling Phil into a tight hug. Phil drooped, every muscle seemingly coming untied in a long unsteady exhale. He leaned heavily into Clint’s shoulder and Clint kissed the top of his head. He gently shifted Phil in his arms and kissed down along his jaw. He met Phil’s lips softly, whispering into his mouth. “I’m sorry, Phil. I’m sorry I’ve been hiding, I’m sorry I’m such a dick all the time. I’m sorry I said I didn’t want to know. _Please_ talk to me.”

           Phil pulled back, holding Clint’s face in both hands, more to steady himself than Clint. “When I lost my memories, it seems I lost something else.”

           Clint’s face went blank, trying to hold off emotion until he heard it all.

           “I can’t _feel_ , Clint, there is something wrong with my nerves and it’s getting worse.”

           “It wasn’t adrenaline.”

           “No. I physically could not feel the pain; I didn’t notice the cuts or burns. My body isn’t responding the way it’s supposed to.”

           Clint scrunched his face up, thinking. “But that can be treated, right? And you have a government agency at your side to help. And two scientific geniuses. And _me_.” Clint took his hand and squeezed, giving an optimistic smile. Phil pulled back.

           “No, Clint, you don’t understand. I can’t be in the field. I’m a liability to the team.”  
  
           “What does that mean?”

           “It means I can’t be your handler.”

           “Phil, that-“

           “I am still a SHIELD agent,” He paused Clint sensed the ‘but’ hanging in the air. He nudged Phil, prompting him to continue. “But the team will be assigned a new SHIED liaison.”  
  
           “And you? Where will you go?”  
  
           “I may be deadweight, but I want to stay in the Tower. With _you_ , if you’d let me.”

           He looked so unsure that Clint broke into laughter, tension shaking off his shoulders. “Phil, _yes,_ of course. I would have found you and brought you home to me even if they relocated you to Asgard. You’re kinda stuck with me for a while.” Clint cupped Phil’s jaw and placed a gentle kiss on the side of his mouth. “See? There’s that smile that I missed.” They stayed like that for an endless minute; fingers tracing upturned mouths, and noses just grazing, Breathing. Smiling.

           Phil cleared his throat. He had gotten this far; he needed to finish. “I'm told that many cases are a result of heightened endorphin production. Medical's got me trialling naxalone --“

           “Endorphins? Aren’t those the happy brain things?”

           “Yes. And I talked to Thor as well and-“

           “Dammit, Phil, why are the happy things-“ Clint looked so confused but Phil plowed on.

           “-and he thinks it may be a side effect of Loki’s staff. The magic seems to have exacerbated my already tampered brain signals to a dangerous and constant level. Almost like a poison in case the first stab didn’t kill its victim.”

           Clint recoiled. Phil immediately regretted that particular word choice. “Are you telling me that being happy is- _fuck_ , Phil, being in _love is killing you_.”   
  
           “That’s not what-“   
  
           Clint jumped from the bed, looking torn between wanting to touch Phil and wanting to hide in the farthest corner. “I’m not stupid, Phil.”   
  
           “I know you’re not, but-“  
  
           “It sounds like these endorphins, these chemicals in your brain are blocking you from feeling pain. Yes?”  
  
           “Yes, but-“  
  
           “And endorphins come from happiness and love and all that shit.” He retreated to the door. “No. Phil, we can’t do this. I _can’t_ kill another person that I love. I don’t get a lot of good things in life and I have this goddamn uncanny ability to break the ones I do get, and _fuck_ ,” Clint could feel pinpricks in his eyes. “I am not losing one more thing because I am a fucking idiot. You’re too good, too kind, and I don’t want –“ His emotions were drowning his thoughts and his words.   
  
           Phil was there, kissing the tears on his face, and folding him into his arms. “You aren’t going to lose me.”  
  
           “You can’t promise that.”  
  
           “I fucking can, Clint. And I will.” His words were so fierce and heated that Clint quickly looked up, surprised. Phil brushed his fingertips lightly across Clint’s cheeks, clearing the streaks of tears. “I will be careful. I want to stay with you; I want to live. Because _I love you_. That means you’re kinda stuck with me for a while.”  
  
           Clint plopped his head onto Phil’s shoulder, shaking a little. “I’m not crying ‘cause I’m sad.” He mumbled into the fabric. “I’m happy. I’m so fucking in love with you.” He lifted his head, grinning. “Phil Coulson; I am in love with you.”  
  
           “I know.”  
  
           “I’ve loved you for a while.”  
  
           “I know, Clint. Me too.”  
  
           “We’re both idiots. But we’re happy, right?”  
  
           Phil just tugged him closer and kissed Clint until he was warm and flushed, half-collapsing into the bed pillows. “So happy.” He whispered across Clint’s mouth.   
  
           “Not so happy you could die, though?”  
  
           “Mmm, I’ve already died once. It’s not so bad.” Clint suddenly flipped their positions and pinned Phil down.   
  
           “That. Is. Not. Funny.“ He poked Phil’s chest with each word, trying to be playful, but Phil could see the stifled anguish in his eyes.

           "I know. I'm not joking." Anguish turned to panic, and Phil pressed a placating hand to Clint's side. "Clint, I live with six people with hero complexes and no regard for their own lives. Even if I didn't, you alone are in Medical twice a week with near-fatal injuries. Trust me, I've made my peace with death.” Phil reached for Clint’s arms, pulling him down lightly. “I'd take a year with you over a decade without you any day."   
  
           Clint’s face tried to battle a goofy grin, but he lost. “Dammit Phil, you always say the best things. How can I top that?”  
  
           “What can I say, I’m a romantic at heart.” Phil chuckled and ran his hands up Clint’s thighs, making him shiver. “And I’m pretty sure your current position qualifies as ‘top’, _Specialist._ ”  
  
           “Well, _sir_ , I guess I’m just going to have to take advantage of this aren’t I?”

 

           ~The End~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, truly, to everyone who went on this crazy journey with me.  
> I swear, this was supposed to be a drabble experiment and even I don't know why these characters decided to run away with the plot and refuse to give it back.
> 
> I'm ending this for now, because I could continue this forever, but I'd like to think these guys do go on, making their own stories in this universe, even if I'm not there to write it.
> 
> Long (crazy long) story short, thank you for reading! It has been a very encouraging and lovely ride. <3


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